Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike
The seizure of the docks sent a shockwave through the New York underworld.
By noon, the Maroni family’s supply lines had been completely cut off. Three ships carrying millions of dollars in illegal cargo were forced to turn back in the harbor, unable to dock without Dante’s permission.
But a wounded beast is always the most dangerous.
At 4:00 p.m., Dante and Clara were inside the administrative office of Pier 42, reviewing the ledger entries, when the building’s alarms began to blare.
"Boss!" Marco yelled, slamming the door open. "They’re hitting us from the water! Two speedboats, heavily armed! They’re using grenade launchers!"
A massive explosion rocked the building, throwing Clara against the desk. The glass windows shattered inward, showering the room in sharp, silver needles.
Dante threw himself over Clara, his body protecting hers as the ceiling tiles began to fall around them. The air was instantly filled with thick, black smoke and the deafening roar of automatic weapons from the harbor.
"Marco!" Dante shouted through the noise. "Get the SUVs around the back! We need to evacuate Clara now!"
Dante pulled Clara to her feet, his pistol drawn. Her face was covered in white drywall dust, her eyes wide, but the blind panic that had paralyzed her in the penthouse was gone. The days of safety, the return of her name, and the fierce pride of her bloodline had changed her. She didn't hide. She reached down, picked up a discarded pistol from a fallen Serrano guard, and checked the magazine with a practiced, steady hand.
"I'm not running this time, Dante," she said, her violet eyes burning through the smoke. "If they want me, they have to come through the front door."
"We fight together," Dante said, a sudden, fierce pride lighting up his dark eyes.
They ran down the hallway, the building shaking under another mortar blast. They reached the main warehouse just as four Maroni soldiers burst through the side doors, their weapons raised.
Dante fired three times, dropping two of them. The third soldier aimed his rifle at Dante’s chest, but before he could pull the trigger, a sharp, precise shot rang out from behind him.
The soldier collapsed, a neat bullet hole in his forehead.
Dante turned to see Clara, her arms extended, her stance perfect, the smoke curling from the barrel of her weapon. She didn't blink. She looked like her father had thirty years ago—a stone-cold ruler who knew exactly what the life required.
"Nice shot," Dante said, his voice tight.
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"My father gave me my first shooting lesson when I was ten," Clara said, her face expressionless. "He told me to never waste lead on the torso if the head is clear."
They pushed out of the building, reaching the black SUVs just as Marco’s team managed to suppress the remaining attackers on the speedboats. The SUVs tore out of the pier, leaving the burning docks behind them as they headed back toward the safety of the Manhattan skyline.
